


Before I Confessed

by rosemallows



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-02-28 12:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13271673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemallows/pseuds/rosemallows
Summary: Imagine the one thing you loved the most-- whatever you desperately ached for was suddenly .  . .Gone.In an instant. And suddenly, your world comes crashing down around you. The world is dark and cruel and it's as if you're suffocating in the brutal hands of your own life, taunting you and just  b r e a k i n g  you apart.John Laurens felt just like that. How does one simply move on? How does one just . . . live after your heart has been cracked with a hammer?Answer: It's not easy. It's a painful, agonizing process.





	Before I Confessed

**Author's Note:**

> John Laurens doesn't know how to speak French here.
> 
> Historically inaccurate of course. This is based off of the broadway cast characters and do not mimic the actual historical figures' personality. In fact, it is possibly very far off of their personalities.
> 
> I will probably rewrite this in the future.

The pain memories could bring were just so excruciating. How cruel and how vicious could our human brains be? How could they decide to . . . just keep such gruesome memories in your mind when they know how much it pains you to have them?

John Laurens let the tears roll down his cheeks, blinds shut, no light seeping in his pitch black room. He didn't choke back a sob. Instead, he let it come out, full force. The roar of his sobs and the unrelenting rage and utter despairing screeches from his throat attacked the dark of his room. The sounds desperately charged at the blackness, clawing and stabbing and bashing and stomping on every piece, filling every corner with its sheer dread. He let his voice tear his throat raw until he snatched his dirty pillow and held it against his mouth, crying into it.

He's done this for weeks now.

All this crying and sobbing and tears streaming down his skin until he felt like the water eroded parts of his skin away. Oh, how this man desperately wished his sorrows could be overcome. He wondered if the feeling such as hunger would ever come back to him, and he'd be motivated to gnaw on the scraps of food his friends attempted to feed him. Oh how painful the boy's lungs were. They were on fire. John felt as if he'd swallowed lit matches, all at once, and they were burning up his chest even more.

The grief-stricken man was painfully oblivious to his own body's needs. Like he was numb to the growling of his stomach and the griminess of his hair and the odor of his form. How could he not be when an ever so painful memory was still stuck in his head. It was a giant neon sign, constantly flashing in his brain. It seemed as though it could never be turned off, blinding him to all things.

The tears still rushing down his freckled face, he sat up and stared at glowing red numbers of his digital clock. His eyes stayed wide open and those dry, desert cracked lips of his were quivering. Suddenly, his weakening body flinched noticeably when there was a soft knock at the door. His eyes snapped toward it when a familiar soft voice followed.

". . . Are you alright mon ami?" Gilbert’s voice was soothing and quiet. "Mon dieu, you have not eaten in weeks." Silence. He couldn't bring himself to answer to this poor man looking after him. John was burdening him. He hated to make his friends worry.

"This is unhealthy of you. Yes, I know you are going through the healing process. Don't you know we are just as devastated? We can help you. Sil vous plâit, do not shut us out," the french man pleaded. He knocked softly against the wood once more. "John? Please. Please . . ."

He wiped his eyes with his bare hands. Stop, stop stop. Just leave me alone. John unintentionally made a choking noise. Without him controlling it, his voice spoke. It was croaky and hoarse, as he had anticipated.

"Laf . . . Laf I'm so so sorry."

Lafayette stood outside the door, his forehead pressing against the wood. He knew John was devastatingly upset. Hell, Lafayette was as well. His hair was a mess, his eyes were red and his bead unshaven. Every one of their friends was. How could they not be when their dear Alexander was dead?

"Mon ami, can I come in?" the boy inquired. After a few seconds of silence, the french man turned the knob and entered the extremely dark room. "Come here. Come sit with us."

"Us?" John asked, gripping his greasy hair after having not showered in weeks. The light poured in from the hallway, shining over his friend's features. He was a mess as well, though not quite as awful a look as John. He had not shaved, and his hair was undone from its usual ponytail. His eyes were a sad red color from crying and there were dark circles under his eyes.

The Marquis nodded solemnly. "Angelica, Eliza, Peggy, Hercules, they're all sitting the living room. Come join us." Lafayette tried not to stare too hard at the grotesque features of the great Laurens. For he was so unbearably grimy, so . . . messy and reeked of stench.

"But first," he said as Laurens creeped out of bed, wobbling on his feet. "A shower." Laurens reluctantly stepped toward the hallway. Lafayette noted the awfully tear stricken cheeks the freckled boy had. He only wondered how terribly Alexander's death had affected him.

 

* * *

 

"I'm John Laurens!" the freckled college student exclaimed enthusiastically. He beamed brightly at Alexander, flashing his gap-toothed grin before smiling at the rest of the crowd around the table. In his hand he wielded a glass of Samuel Adams, waving it around before downing its contents. Alexander, a bit bewildered yet happy to meet a fresh new face nonetheless, smiled back, trying to match this "John Laurens'" wonderful grin.

". . . Like I said," Aaron Burr mumbled quietly right next to the immigrant's ear. Hamilton pulled a sour face at his idol's reaction. Before he could utter another word though, Burr cleared his throat and adjusted his suit a little bit. "There's a lot of what I call . . . delinquents residing around here. Avoid one of those. Noisy, loud, obnoxious. They distract you. They never stop talking. With those chatterboxes, they no doubtedly will get nowhere. I'd advise you to pick your friends wisely, Alexander," he gruffed, hailing a dark laugh. Alexander pulled a bit away from the older student, narrowing his eyes at the man. He hardly took notice. Just continued sipping his drink and shaking his head resentfully at the man performing up on the table.

He crossed his arms, pulling at the sleeve of his hoodie as he stood uncomfortably next to Burr. They watched on as the crowd of students laughed along with Laurens' antics. They cheered him on as he danced about on the wood table. The bartender quietly laughed near the pair. As Burr took immense satisfaction in quietly belittling the bubbly young man in his head, Alexander smiled wider with each rhyme the boy made.

But his performance was interrupted as a fresh new face nudged the boy to the edge of the table, nearly falling off. John knitted his eyebrows together, uttering a small "Hey—" before this new man took over the "stage".

"Je m'appelle Gilbert Lafayette," this new person exclaimed just as John stepped off of the table, a smile replacing his irritated expression. He had his hair tucked back in a high ponytail, suited in a black sweater. He too raised his mug of alcohol, just higher than John's and putting on a good show. He spoke mostly in french, captivating most of the students who were intrigued by different languages.

Alexander couldn't help but smile even bigger, leaning forward, almost desperate to reach out to these two expressive performers. And as Aaron distastefully spit on the two's personalities, Alexander merely indulged himself in their joyful aura. Once more, a new face was exposed to the public. He was a strong looking man, intimidating many of the college students on the table. Though, when he made a joke about beastiality, Alex was sure he saw majority of the crowd cringe away and howl in laughter.

It wasn't long before Mulligan's eyes darted around the room, enjoying every single person's company as they supported the trio. But they landed right on a certain man glaring right back at him.

"Aaron Burr!" he yelled right over the roar of the crowd. Aaron Burr jumped back, startled at the sudden mention of his name. After getting the man's attention, Hercules leaped off of the table, landing right on his feet, already on his way to speak to the man.

"No way! The prodigy of Princeton!? Drop some knowledge good Burr!" John Laurens suddenly intervened, popping up right behind the strong built man. Before Alex knew it, the trio of performers all surrounded the pair.

Aaron simply knitted his brows, brandishing a snobbish behavior. "No. Wouldn't want to possibly intervene with your . . . performance. Good luck rambling on with those mouthes of yours while I listen to my advisors and wait for, well, any opportunity.."

"Aw, boo!" the other two simultaneously groaned.

"Aw, come on Burr! You haven't had any fun in life?" John Laurens whined, his face pinched in irritance. He walked right up to Burr, invading his personal space before wrapping an arm around his neck. Aaron's face twisted in distaste.

"Yeah, Burr. What else is college for? It ain't all just books and learning!" Alex piped up, startling the three men. The immigrant watched as his escort's face slowly untwisted to stare at him blankly. Like he couldn't believe what just burst out of his mouth.

The other three seemed genuinely surprised, as if they hadn't noticed his presence.

"Well who are you?" Laurens first inquired, gradually removing his arm from around Aaron's neck. The two other performers repeated the same question simultaneously.

The freckled boy walked right up to Alexander, his body practically touching his! His eyes darted to scrutinize every pore in Alexander's face.

Alex's face flushed red, surprised at the sudden forward contact. He backed up a little as John's face swarmed with curiosity. He smiled once more, causing Alexander to swallow before regaining his composure. John had a curly ponytail just like Lafayette, but lower.

"I'm Alexander," he said, reaching an arm out for the man to shake. John's face scrunched up in suspicion, before he burst out in a smile and gladly took his hand.

"Alexander," the freckled boy repeated, admiring the way the newcomer's syllables vibrated off of his lips. John's brown eyes sparkled as he took in more of the immigrant's figure. While John had this look of awe on his face, a new, crazy feeling resonating through his body, he barely acknowledged Alexander's own look of awe.

"Welcome to Princeton."

 

* * *

 

John let out a startling gasp. He snapped out of the memory, painfully gasping for air, so engulfed in that sweet memory it burned his heart to come back to reality. The man squeezed his eyes tight and collapsed to his knees as the steaming hot water pattered on his back and head. It was so steamy in that room, so hot. But the numb boy couldn't feel it. He just wanted that boy back. Just wanted. Just wanted to tell him. Just wanted to hold his hand.

Soap suds dripped down his head, swirling in the water. All he could do was stare blankly at the drain as water splashed in his eyes. He was stuck in a trance. Until he heard a loud knock at the door.

"Mon ami, is all well?" he heard the familiar french voice from behind the door. It had a slightly panicked tone to it. John could not form words, his mouth was failing him.

"I am going to come in," Gilbert loudly announced. The door creaked open. The freckled boy blinked frantically and hurriedly massaged his scalp with the remaining soap and washed it out. It was as if his scalp and once oily hair had finally been able to breathe after long weeks without the sweet smelling shampoo and conditioner.

"I'm okay. Really, I am, Laf," Laurens said in a cracked voice. Lafayette breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"Oh, merci dieu," he whispered to himself. "S'il vous plaît hurry John? The others are as you say . . . very eager to see you." The sweet man held a hand to his chest, glancing around the bathroom floor. John had tossed his dirty clothes into the hamper, but forgot to bring fresh clean clothes. He was beyond reluctant to allow the boy alone in the bathroom for one more moment, afraid he may do something . . . drastic. He peeked his head outside of the bathroom momentarily.

"Hercules, will you gather clothes for our dear friend? Se dépêcher, er, hurry."

In the living room gathered friends who were quite dear to Alexander. They glued their eyes to the T, consoling each other very quietly. One would place an arm around the other, or hold the other's hand tightly. Angelica held her sister, Eliza's hand tightly while Peggy rested her head on Angelica's shoulder, trying to keep her eyes on whatever the characters were saying.

Hercules stood up from the couch and put on a sad smile. He approached Laurens' mess of a room to gather new, clean clothes.

The man who was loud, confident and always full of joy was now quiet and was exhibiting a horrible forced sadness that no one would have known to expect from such a flamboyant character. He rapped on the bathroom door, quietly whispering to his friend.

"I've got his clothes," he murmured, eyes trailing down to the floor as he handed the french man the comfortable cloths. "You think he'll be good soon?"

Lafayette stared back at Mulligan before nodding his head very reluctantly. "O—Oui. Soon. Let me keep eyes on him now." Hercules nodded, proceeding to walk back into the living room.

Gilbert closed the door and stared at the shower curtains for a moment, just pondering. Would John get over it? Would he . . . really?

The shower turned off.

 

* * *

 

Within months, Alexander and John were the closest friends anyone had ever known.

Within months, John's heart rate picked up incredibly fast whenever Alexander got near him.

"Yo, Alex?" John shouted as he piled all of his dirty laundry in the basket. Alex was close by. He lounged on his roommate's bed, playing whatever he had on his phone and constantly checking social media. John's roommate was out, as per usual, trying to woo ladies and maybe even scoring a date as he was so desperately lonely.

"Yeah?" Alexander replied, barely sparing a glance at his best friend. John turned around, staring into the contents of his smelly clothes. He tightened his grip on the white basket, swallowing, hearing his own heartbeat in his ears pounding LOUDER than a drum. He gulped again, exhaling, inhaling, before staring up at the man immersed in his phone.

"So that new movie," John began. "Wanna come watch with me?" His heartbeat was speeding off, running with the pace of a leopard. His face felt hot. So hot. Like he was in a sauna. God, why was he so nervous? This is his best friend!

Alexander grinned, put down his phone, sat up, stared at John. "Oh my God! I've always wanted to see that movie! I wanted to watch it so bad, but nobody wanted to come with! Yes!" Alexander was beaming and John Laurens felt as if were about to melt down right there and then. John nodded and regained his cool, blowing out some air from his lips.

"Nice. Well, I'll order the tickets online before it gets sold out." Alex smiled once more, about to start another conversation topic before he noticed the basket of laundry and his friend's face. Assuming the redness of it, he believed that the load was heavy.

Hamilton stood up, approaching his best friend in a few strides. The freckled man held his breath, silently cursing himself in his mind for not being able to compose himself. The talkative friend grabbed the basket from him, smiling up at the blushing boy.

"You're so red. Let me help you." John flushed even more, blood rushing to every part of his face. He darted his eyes from left to right, looking anywhere but at Alex.

"W—What! Alex, come on, don't be silly." He rolled his eyes, scoffing, but letting go of the load so that Alex could help. They walked down the hallway to the laundry room.

The pair started up another conversation which melded into another topic, and another. The blood from John's face rushed back to his body. He seemed comfortable. At ease. He smiled and laughed whenever Alexander explained his feuds with Jefferson. When they came into the room, John Laurens' phone rang.

The freckled boy stopped and glanced over at Alex, who was sitting on the dryer, whistling and kicking his feet back and forth in the air. John took out his phone and pressed answer, placing the device on his ear.

"Hello?" he inquired.

"John!" his dad beamed. "Hey, how's college been treating you?"

John smiled. His dad! His family! God, he missed them. "Oh, I've been fine. I made new friends and I'm excelling all my classes."

"That's good to hear," his dad replied. But soon, there was a moment of silence that changed the mood in the air drastically. ". . . Do you still . . . like boys?" he quietly whispered, as if it were a horrible secret.

Suddenly, John's heart was crushed and he felt as if water would force its way out of his eyes, burning his skin and breaking down in front of his crush. His best friend. Why did John have to love his dad so much when it fucking hurt like hell that his love was only fake! He didn't love him! It's all a façade. The fake love, the cooing and "Oh, I'm so proud of you son!" is just a way to try to woo him back to what he's supposed to be. Heterosexual. Just because his father wants him to be.

He may not show it as much.

But in reality, Henry Laurens absolutely despises his son's sexuality. He hates what he is. Before Laurens went off to college, he had planned to take his own son to conversion therapy. He had intricate plans, hoping, desperately believing that this would make his son better. That it would make him normal. But right before he was going to announce to his son that they were taking to him to therapy, John had announced that he was accepted to Princeton University.

Henry Laurens could not let his son be late for his first few days and jeopardize his studies just to fix him! No, it had to be when he finally graduated. Or, better yet, when he arrived back to visit from Princeton.

Before his father could speak another word, John Laurens ended the call with a face pale and looking as if his eyes were about to erupt. He turned away right as he spotted Alex looking into him very intricately. His eyebrow was raised and his lips were pressed tight. He looked absolutely worried.

". . . You okay?" the boy murmured. John turned lowered his head for a moment before exhaling, smiling and turning around, resonating artificial happiness.

"Yeah! Lemme finish my laundry and we can go, yeah?" John smiled from ear to ear. It was so . . . unreal. But the boy felt that if he made his smile falter even a little bit, he'd burst into tears. Alexander's expression remained grim and worrisome. However, he thought John would come to him once he was ready. Instead, he popped a grin too.

John started dumping the colored clothing into the washer.

 

* * *

 

John Laurens could smell the smells of the detergent he used to clean his clothes as he pulled on the big sweater. He could smell the strong scent that he used whenever Alexander helped him with his laundry. When he had a dorm room. Laurens let out a shaky breath.

In, and out.

In, and out.

In, and out.

The soap held memories of his beloved.

Everything held a painful memory.

Alex was a painful memory.

John slowly walked over to the mirror, watching his face in his reflection. He saw a sad man in that glass. A man with heavy, heavy bags under his eyes. A growing beard. A man with dark, sleepy skin that made him look so much older than he was. His eyes were red from days of crying and sobbing and weeping. There were small red cuts on his face from when he dug his nails in his face, clinging on to something and hoping that wishing upon it would bring back the person he truly cared about. When he scratched up his complexion, hoping that squeezing onto something would bring him relief.

It didn't work. And it won't work.

Alex is never coming back.

The man placed his hand to his chest, then smoothed his palm over his arm. Alex's hands were always so sweet. He was so sweet to him.

 

* * *

 

The truth was, John didn't even want to see that movie. It wasn't even his type of movie. Laf and Herc and Angelica and Peggy and Eliza were complaining to him how much Alex was dying to see it. He'd be begging for them to come with him, but they all declined. In truth, the five of them would see it another time. They just wanted John to see it with Alex as they were acutely aware of how in love their friend John was.

John had fallen asleep a few minutes into the movie.

Alexander was so infatuated with the screen, gasping at any intense scenes that dare to arise before his eyes. He shoved heavily buttered popcorn into his mouth and gauged it down with some Coca-Cola. He barely registered the head that was resting on his shoulder and snoring ever so softly.

The man took a few bites of candy in his mouth and upon leaning back in his seat froze instantly at the sudden realization of John's sleeping body comfortably relaxing on his own figure. Alex felt the sounds of the big screen go kind of muffled as he could only focus on the soft snores and sleepy murmurs of his buddy's slumber.

God, he was making this movie so much harder to enjoy.

Alexander breathed a bit heavily. He swallowed multiple times and tapped his fingertips repeatedly against the armrest before taking a deep breath and slowing breathing it out. It's okay. It's okay. He's just comfortable with you. Alex, calm down . . . Calm down. Stop it. He's your friend. Why are you so nervous whenever you're around him?

He slowly peeled his pupils away from him and toward the action of what was going to be his new favorite movie.

When the credits rolled, John picked up his sleepy head and mumbled a few incoherent words. "Wha—" he mumbled as the lights turned on and hit their faces. Alex grinned as he saw the freckled boy's wild ponytail and drool covered mouth. John, blinking a few times and staring at Alexander as he stared at him, suddenly realized this and widened his eyes. Trying to look presentable, he quickly swiped at his lips, wiping away any dry saliva.

God, I looked like an idiot! the college student thought to himself. Alexander stood up though and outstretched his hand, offering to help him out of his chair. John gladly accepted, standing up and muttering a small thanks.

"Come on, help me throw away the trash," he said to him. The loud-mouthed boy picked up his container of half-full popcorn as the freckled one brought the empty soda cup and stash of candy.

As they walked the empty aisles, John inquired, "Hey, how was that movie?" After a quick silent second, his friend laughed a little, silently recalling how he almost couldn't focus on the movie because of Laurens, but answered anyway.

"God, it was amazing. I was right to see it," Alex replied enthusiastically. Behind him, John smiled. He was happy. "Just amazing. The main character was so intelligent. I just loved her tactics. I would've done the same things." . . . Until he realized Alexander was going to start babbling about the perfections of this movie and every small flawless detail in each scene.

When they decided to head back for the dorms, walking side by side, John laughed upon watching Alex finish writing his five-star review as well as attempting to start an argument with the "Motherfucking Dicktwitches" who rated the film a mere one-star, criticizing each detail that Alexander described as perfection. His thumbs were quick to type each word. It was nearly impossible to decipher what his friend was saying because Alex's writing was just so profound and advanced. However, he could see that the palaces of paragraphs he was writing was to a user named A. W. Farmer.

When he sent his essay of a review, Alex quickly looked at his message but as soon as the name "Aaron Burr" glowed, he flinched, glanced a panicked look at John, turned off his phone and scoffed, regaining composure. "That Farmer is an arrogant moron. I refuted all of his awful critiques with facts from behind the scenes of the movie!"

John raised a brow. "You really love this movie." Alex turned to look at him.

"Of course, Laurens! That movie was absolute perfection!" He began to get really expressive once again, moving his wrists every which way as he explained every movement and personality of each character. John realized how dark it was getting, yet he didn't want to interrupt this beautiful man's enthusiasm. John's smile slowly faded as all background noises muffled. He could barely focus on Alex, when he was staring at his perfect imperfections.

With his smiling face molding into a new focused, awe-struck expression, Laurens could feel his heart pumping faster and faster. John didn't believe how in love he was with this man. It was . . . more than a crush. More than infatuation. More than just love. It was above love. Above all romantic book cliches. It was something bigger than the size of the universe.

But John must've believed it nothing than a crush. Something that he'd get over because he deeply believed how Alex's affections were not duplicating his.

But God was he wrong.

God, he was so so wrong.

Alex felt the intense flapping of butterflies swarming about in his stomach whenever John invited him somewhere. That tingle and shortness of breath he felt whenever his fingertips grazed any part of John. He knew he was in love with John Laurens.

Unlike Laurens, he had no intention to deny those feelings. He had no one who opposed his sexual preference. No family member to bop him on the head and insist that he was heterosexual. He's had supporting friends and well, what he considered close people but not family members, his whole life. George Washington was a lovely man. He was oh so close to his friends as well and deeply believed in Alexander's potential.

Unlike Laurens, he was open to anybody who dare inquire what his preference was or dare question his straightness. Nonetheless, the man kept quiet until asked or until a homophobic comment or public post fueled his temper. He never knew how bad Laurens had it for him. When Alex and Eliza broke things off, he never realized why he was glad to have done that. Now he knows. It was Laurens. Him, him, him.

Alexander grinned from ear to ear, realizing his friend's focused face. He looked so . . . infatuated . . . in love? With Alexander's topic. He was ultimately glad that someone was listening to his passion.

. . . But then again, John probably wasn't interested in that movie. Was he . . . thinking about him?

No, no. He did not want to assume things and build up high hopes for himself. It's better to just assume that he was engrossed in his review.

As Alexander finished his speech, he expected Laurens to smile and slap him on the back and urge him to get going back to their dorm rooms. But instead, he just continued staring at Alexander. His mouth was dropped open slightly and his eyes were still sparkling with that same love. Alexander stopped smiling too, nearly mimicking Laurens' bewildered expression.

"Uh . . . Hey," Hamilton murmured.

That made the older college student blink quite a few times. He looked down at the sidewalk and then let his eyes trail back up to meet Alexander's before he burst out in a blush and laughed a few times.

"Ha, sorry, was caught up in your speech!" he laughed nervously. Laurens scratched the back of his head, Alex noticing. His heart buzzed once more at that.

The orphan's lips drew a thin line. I knew it. It had nothing to do with me. Nevertheless, he was glad Laurens was here to distract him from a certain person constantly pestering him. It was strange how such an older boy could appear so strangely . . . sadistic in text messages. He wondered if he shall ever share the pictures he's taken of the messages with his friend?

Alexander put on a smile. "Wow, thanks for listening. Come on, let's get back."

 

* * *

 

As soon as John stepped out of the bathroom with Gilbert's palm resting on his back, John's eyes trailed up to see the movie his friends were watching. It was one of those comedy movies where the characters were ultimately stupid. Alexander would have hated this. How these movies reminded him of the time they watched Alexander's forever favorite movie. Oh wow, how he loved the way his crush loved the movie. He loved the passion and fire in his eyes whenever he expressed his interests.

But the flames and passion are gone. Forever.

"See? All friends, here, with you," Lafayette softly said. Laurens looked at him with a sad smile. Angelica, Eliza, Peggy, And Hercules spotted him. They all sat up straight and beamed with welcome arms.

"John," Angelica was the first to speak. She looked as if she was about to burst into tears. She stood, smiles lingering on his face. Lafayette stepped out of the way as the oldest sister wrapped the grieving boy in her arms. John stiffened, but soon melted into her motherly hug and felt all the emotions he tried to sweep away rise up to the surface and burst out of his mouth and eyes.

"I'm so sorry," John sobbed into her shoulder. "You guys were there for me, but I ignored you." Angelica's soothing motions on his back were so comforting. He just wouldn't stop hiccuping and crying now.

Angie felt like she'd cry too, but she just listened to him. Lafayette's eyes were glassy. His face was molded into pain like seeing John like this hurt him dearly. Soon, the others were up and hugging the pair. They could all heal together. John didn't have to grieve alone.

"Don't be hon," Eliza said next, her voice breaking as salty tears trailed down her cheeks. "We knew how much he meant to you."

"We love him too. We miss him so damn much. We just don't want you to feel alone in this," Magaret said with tear filled eyes. "We love you too John. We don't want you to suffer."

"You don't have to abandon us, Laurens. We care about you. So much," Mulligan sobbed.

"Alex loved you more than you'd ever know," Lafayette murmured. "He was so in love with you, John . . . He wanted nothing more than to be with you." At that, John's eyes widened even more and he sobbed harder.

Stupid, so stupid.

"He died," John croaked, sniffling and choking on his own sobs. "He died . . . before I confessed."

His friends squeezed him tighter.

 

* * *

 

Laurens was doubled over in laughter at the large bruise on Alexander's face. Alex was holding the ice pack to the ugly bruise while glaring bitterly at his best friend.

"I thought you'd support me! Stop laughing!" Hamilton blushed.

Cold mist blew out of Laurens' mouth as he cackled to death. He was about to fall right into the snow as he wheezed for breath.

"I can't believe my best friend is an idiot," he giggled as he recovered, standing back up slowly. He adjusted the mittens on his hand. "You barely need the ice pack. It's already freezing out here." The two were on their way to the Schuyler sisters' house, a winter party. The gorgeous sisters were very popular and threw the best parties, so everyone said. This time, they called for formal wear to try to imitate a ball.

And Alex and John decided they'd go together as they had no intention of finding a woman to woo. It was only a few more blocks away but at the rate of how they were going, they'd probably get to their friends' house very late.

"Well, it provides extra chills," Alex replied coolly. "And it feels nice." Hamilton's eyes examined his friend's freckles, covered in a cold blush. He was dressed in layers of warmth. Snowflakes still continued to fall from the grey sky, dusting their knitted hats and jackets.

John rolled his eyes and smiled. "Well, I don't think you had to slap Jefferson's burrito out of his hand. His face turned as purple as that ridiculous sweater he wears."

Alex danced around his friend, striding in front of him. "Weellll . . . I just thought of every annoying thing he's ever done to me. Aaaanddd . . . I just got so pissed I'd decided to destroy all his happiness."

John raised a brow as he started skipping his way down the sidewalk. "Alex. He was starving." Hamilton turned around with a disgusted face.

"And that's my problem?" The blushing boy scoffed, recalling how Alex and him were getting some fries to eat before the party at the food court, and Jefferson was all dressed up, ready for the ball as well as Madison and John Adams, that chubby prick with them. Thomas had been extremely pale, like he was about to pass out as he purchased the galaxy's largest burrito stuffed with ungodly amounts of calories.

"Eat up, Thomas," Madison had said to him. "Don't want you to faint." John and Alex had seen them right as they bought a bag of greasy fries. Alex's mouth was dropped open, and Laurens remembers his stomach dropping when he witnessed his bewildered expression melt into his usual pure evil mastermind one.

Alexander had turned to him with that smug, terrifying face and pushed his bag of fries into his arms. "Wait here, I have a plan," he said in a gravelly tone that was bound to have John faint right there.

With that tone of voice, it froze him into a human popsicle and all he could muster was a meek, "O—Okay" instead of resisting whatever he was about to unleash onto his enemy.

Just as Thomas' small group got their food, Thomas was about to take a bite of his massive burrito and Hamilton sprinted toward him and bellowed, "Hey Jefferson!" right before slapping the food out of his hands and come crashing down onto the floor. The other students in line had gasped loudly at the action and upon seeing the sight of rice, beans, and meat spreading around the dirty tiles.

Madison and Adams jumped at the quickness of the short-tempered boy. "Hamilton!" they screeched when they saw their friend's mouth still open as he was about to take that bite and his eyes widened in shock and anger. He had stiffened, and his face was slowly turning a shade of angry purple. And his body was quivering.

Laurens slowly got out of his daze as everybody in the court was staring at the scene unfolding. He barely registered what happened, until he saw the food on the floor and remembered the purple face Thomas had made. Alex was already running, laughing his ass off and waving his middle fingers as he ran backward.

"Haha! Fuck you!" he taunted. Then, he shaped his fingers into a pistol with his middle finger being the barrel, and shot at his enemy, screaming, "fuck you, fuck you" every time he shot. "This is my 'fuck you' gun. Fuck you! Fuck you!"

Jefferson, with an empty stomach, his face contorted into a look of pure hatred and wrath and with a deep breath, he screamed at the top of his lungs, "HAMILTON!!!" He charged after the man's sprinting figure, and the two disappeared around the corner. John gasped and ran toward Madison and Adams.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "Hey guys, I'm sorry for Alex. Um, you know he—"

"Yeah, we know," James scoffed, folding his arms. "We're used to it. Go get your friend. We'll get ours." John nodded and started running, dropping the bag of fries. He began to run as fast as his legs would take him around the area, almost bumping into irritated strangers in the process and quickly muttering an apology.

He found his friend sprinting right into his chest, sending John to the floor with an "Oof!" John toppled over his own head backward, and he groaned in pain on the ground. Every body part felt like he was being stabbed with a million tiny needles and there was this irritating drum pouring in his head nonstop. Alex yelped upon realization of seeing his friend sprawled out on the ground.

"JOHN! Oh shit! I'm so sorry. But come one, we gotta get to Ang's house like right now, okay? Okay? Seriously, are you okay?" Hamilton quickly got his friend to his feet and frantically looked behind himself. Jefferson was running to him with the world's most pissed off expression. The giant haired man looked absolutely insane. With his feet brutally attacking the floor with each run he took. He had his teeth bared like an attack dog and his arms were out in front of him, ready to attack.

"Damn, that hurt like a bitch!" Alex murmured as John rubbed his neck. Laurens was still trying to calm down the irksome pain all over his body when he finally looked up at that obnoxious fellow. He quickly stiffened upon seeing the prominent bruise on his loud friend's cheek. It was big, purple and grossly throbbing just like a heart ripped from a body.

"What ha—"

"I'll explain it later! Right now, we gotta get out like now." John knew better than to resist as the man yanked on his arm and pulled him toward the exit. They headed for the doors, firing like a bullet toward the exit as Alexander's enemy slowed down, falling to the ground. He was panting horribly in his wrath, pissed that he isn't able to run as fast. He narrowed his eyes, growling resentfully at the pair fleeing away from him.

They stopped to get an icepack from the nurse before starting their walk toward the Schuylers, and that's when Hamilton explained what happened in full detail, causing his friend to burst out in laughter.

"Well, for one, it is kinda rude," John laughed. Alex stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around to look at him with an obviously joking angry expression.

"Are you . . . defending my arch nemesis? John, I feel so betrayed." He held a hand to his heart. Laurens rolled his eyes again, tapping his chin in thought.

"Hmm, I dunno . . ." he shrugged, beginning to walk in a care free way to his best friend. "Maybe I am? Maybe . . ." he began, contorting his face into a sly expression. "Maybe I'm friends with him!" Alex's face became one of shock!

"Traitor!" he shrieked in horror, covering his face with both of his gloved hands for dramatic effect. John cackled evilly. "You know what I do to traitors?" He started to bend down to gather a fistful of snow.

John was too caught up in his performance of fake laughter to notice.

Alexander's eyebrows knitted together, and he smiled cynically. The snowball was perfectly smooth and spherical. He raised his arm and threw the ball as hard as he could at his best friend's chest.

At the cold impact, John gasped and fell on his bottom. He lay flat on the ground for extra effect."I've been shot!" he shrieked. "I can't believe this! Me, John Laurens! Killed! In a gunfight! How will my children tell my story? Who will tell my story!?"

Alexander guffawed at that. John held a hand over his "wound" and raised his arm toward the sky. "Heed my words, cruel villain. Tomorrow there'll be more of us! And they will take you down, horrible Alexander!"

His friend rushed over as he was about to get up off the ground. "Cruel villain?" he inquired. "Oh no." He approached the "dead body". Alex pinned his friend down into the snow, maliciously grinning. "I believe you are! You have betrayed me!"

John had swallowed while attempting to keep up his smile. His heart was beating u n b e l i e v a b l y fast. Because Alex was on top of him. On. Top. Of. Him! He blamed his red face on the snow. They just stared up into each others eyes as the snow fell around them.

What are you doing, moron? Alex's conscience told him. You're making him uncomfortable! Alex didn't want that. He saw the scared, red look on his freckled friend's face. He couldn't make him uncomfortable, but man, was his whole heart and stomach burning with desire.

John swallowed. His heart beat wildly.

Alex quickly clenched a handful of snow and threw it at his friend's face. "Ha! Got ya!" He quickly sprang up and ran away. John, surprised for a second followed along and ran after, blushing like a madman.

"Alex!"

 

* * *

 

Aaron Burr folded his legs on top of each other on the small bed. He clutched the small, leather-bound journal in his hand, which was tired and sore from constant writing over several days or months. With a pen, he scratched down what he had done daily.

Eaten breakfast. Done exercise. Thought of Alexander. Thought about college.

The man startled when the door to his room opened, revealing the girl who was taking care of him for the time being. She smiled. It was wide and stretched and her eyes were constantly darting toward every object in the room.

"Hello, Aaron," she greeted. "How are you doing today?"

Burr straightened his posture and glanced boredly at her. He put down his leather-bound journal and folded his hands neatly over his carefully crossed legs. The woman was doing her daily routine and first checking up on the room for anything unappealing to the eyes such as a disheveled mess.

"I'm fine, my dear. And you?" he replied, brushing off dirt that wasn't there on his white jacket. The lady turned her head to him again, smiling that stretched smile again. How fake, thought Aaron.

"Oh, I'm doing fairly well. How's your writing process?" The girl picked through his pillows, sliding her hands through the case. Aaron answered again, revealing an answer like how he'd like to write about a scene of a man and his wife hugging their daughter and the jester of his story bursts through the door and interrupts their lovely moment, bragging about his own son and fueling the man's rage.

She grimaced then turned to Burr and grinned again. "Okay! Well, time for your check up."As she did this process, Burr dozed off and his thoughts began to wander. He wondered how his grades have been in school while he's confined here for the time being. He wondered how long it would take to get back there. The nurse he's been visited by has been awfully kind. She provides him great meals, checks his room constantly, but sadly takes away the materials he is so sure he was going to use, and always checks up on his injuries.

"You know, dear, that story I'm writing has been very interesting," he nodded. "The husband is a very poor fellow, you know why?" The nurse looked at him, then back down at her work. "Ah, well, he's had an awful run with bad luck many times before. Sad. And the only good thing that's happened to him was possibly his wife and his daughter. Whom he's loved so dearly. It's a shame Alex—I mean . . . Ha, what was I saying? I mean the jester always has to poke fun at the poor fellow. He'd wonder all the time what the jester has deserved to stay in the world? He'd wonder what it'd be like without that irksome jester."

The nurse just finished checking an injury on Aaron's leg. She applied a cream onto it and wrapped it with a gauze. "Aaron, you need to stop thinking about Alexander . . ." she carefully said. "Remember, he's . . . just a fictional character," she lied not so smoothly. Aaron picked his head up and looked at the girl.

"Right," he drawled, his eyes twitching. The man's hand shook and he was struck with a strange memory of a man jumped up on a table with paper full of one hundreds and screaming indignantly.

The girl swallowed. Aaron Burr shook his head and regained a cool, bored posture once more. "Right," he repeated. "Thank you, Sam. I'm ever grateful for your help." The nurse nodded and smiled, then turned and walked out of his room. The male watched her go, then turned and plopped down on his small, ever so boring bed and thought about his life and thought about everything that's happened in the recent months.

Alexander. Oh, the messages he's sent that man. Alexander's confused answers. Burr had wondered why the male acted so clueless. As if he hadn't known! It hardly matters now. Alex is gone.

And Burr doubts that he'll be in this confined room for a short amount of time.

 

* * *

 

Alexander was rising to the top of his classes putting so much effort into his work and excelling with top energy.

Of course, that came with consequences.

Stress. Stress. Stress.

A storm of stress.

A storm and stress.

John was driving back to campus after visiting his family for a few days which was quickly cut short after one day of fighting. He quickly swiped away tears. All his belongings sat in the seat of his car. He couldn't believe himself for going back to them. His own fucking father. He hated this.

As he drove away from the house of horrors, he bellowed out a scream of frustration which led to waterfalls of tears. His family welcomed him home at first. And John hugged all of his siblings and father, pretending that the question his father had asked months before never even happened. They watched a movie, visited the park and overall had a nice bonding time. When they put the kids to bed, the father turned to the son with a serious expression. John could feel the tension grow in the air just from that change in looks.

"I need to tell you something, my son." John's expression grew annoyed.

"Father, yes, I am still gay. I always will be. You will not change that," he spoke as calmly but as sternly as he could without screaming at him. Henry straightened and cleared his throat.

"Yes, well . . . Tomorrow, I wanted to take you somewhere that will help you with that." John felt his heart beat faster and something in his gut shouting at him to leave and run and get out.

"Help me?" he breathed out. "What do you mean?"

Henry took a deep breath and folded his hands together. "My dear son, I am taking you to get this disorder fixed. It's called conversion therapy. They use these treatments. Don't worry, they won't hurt at first but I can assure you—"

"Conversion therapy," John deadpanned. "What the fuck . . ." he breathed again, feeling lightheaded.

"Don't use that language—"

"No, dad. No . . . What is wrong with you!?" John started raising his voice, blood boiling, heart beating angrily.

His father narrowed his eyebrows. "This is a sin, son. Your sin is against God's wishes! I will not allow my son to rot in hell because of his disorder! I want to fix you. I love you."

John's teeth and fists clenched together. He shoved his dad's chest with so much force, he fell down to the ground, shoving the living room table aside. Items from the glass clattered to the ground as Henry hissed in pain.

"You're sick, Dad!" he growled with so much wrath and so much hate. The homophobe's son quickly ran to his room to pack all of the things he had scattered on the ground into his suitcase. He zipped it up and was already heading to the door right as his father got up and began toward him.

"You're making a mistake!"

"Get out of my face, I never want to see you again, Henry," John said with no emotion. The look on his father's face contorted into pure anger right as John opened the door.

"So be it. I would not want anyone to know that I have a mentally ill, crazy disgrace who refuses to get the help he needs. Leave. Never come back."

But John slammed the door shut and rushed to his car. The last few words that came from his father felt like a brutal, cold hearted stab to his heart. Tears painfully rolled down his cheeks as he stepped into the car.

And as he was near the campus, the sky opened up a dreadful thunderstorm. It was as if a rivers, streams and oceans were falling down from the sky. The boy was sure he would be soaked as soon as he took a step out of his vehicle.

He ran with his belongings back to his dorm and tossed it onto his bed.

"Hey, you're back early?" his roommate commented. John turned around, facing the blonde haired boy. Laurens ran a hand through his hair, chuckling in melancholy.

"Yeah . . . Family problems."

"Man, that sucks. Hope you get them sorted out." John nodded, staring at the ground. God, his body was dripping with water. He looked back up and forced a smile at his friend.

"I'm heading out. Visiting Alexander. I forgot something," John murmured to him. He waved a goodbye as he walked out of the room, heading down the hall toward his best friend's room. His clothes were sodden and they stuck to his body uncomfortably. But they didn't bother him. What bothered him the most was the disgusting words that spewed out of his father's mouth.

Maybe he was right, John thought. Am I wrong to be like this?

He stopped in front of the immigrant's room. He was about to knock until he saw that it was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and softly called out, "Alex?" The room was dim and there was a faint crack of thunder.

He saw his friend sitting on his bed, furiously typing at his laptop with red eyes, as if he'd been crying. A phone was there on the ground and an obscene number of grey text bubbles from Aaron Burr were present, most almost writing an entire essay. There were empty coffee cups scattered about on the floor as well as notebooks and folders and papers and broken mechanical pencils lying on his bed. "Alexander."

He looked up from his laptop and confusion crossed his face. "John? Wha . . . What are you doing back so early?" The man wiped his eyes to try to take away any evidence of tears.

John blinked a few times. "You were . . . crying?"

"You're wet," Alexander replied. He stared at him for a few moments, then shook his head. "Never mind. I'm so busy right now. I have so much work to do."

John pressed his lips together, looking at his friend in thought. I have so much work to do. He has never used that phrase on him before. Just on other people. "You can't fool me, Alexander. I know that saying. What's wrong?" He looked back up at his friend.

"What? No, nothing." He continued typing away at his keyboard. Then, he sighed in defeat. "I can't lie to you, John. It's . . . the thunderstorm. I . . . uh . . ." he looked down, closing his laptop. ". . . I've been . . . um no let me start over. The storm just reminded me so much of the hurricane that destroyed my town. I thought I recovered from that but um I guess I was wrong."

John made an 'o' shape with his mouth. Of course. He totally forgot about that. Alexander seemed so fearless, so full of life and happiness. It's almost impossible to see him so frightened.

"It's alright Alex. It's over, just remember that. Okay?" John walked over to him, sitting on his bed but being careful to be wary of the work scattered on his bed.

"I know, John. I just . . . I don't know. I was doing work to distract myself." Laurens put a hand on his shoulder. Alex exhaled, breathing cut short by the feeling of John's palm. He shook his head.

"Anyway, why are you back so soon?" Laurens flinched, not expecting that question. He was considering changing the subject, but Hamilton was just looking at him so expectantly. And he just confessed to him. John recalled the moments and sighed, willing himself not to sob.

"My dad . . ." he started. "I never told you, but . . ." John inhaled. He knew Alex would accept him, but why was it so difficult to tell him? Like something in his chest was resisting the urge to tell him. Was there a chance that maybe he just wouldn't accept his best friend? "I'm . . . I'm gay."

Alex felt his stomach drop to his knees. Was . . . was what he was hearing true? It sounded like a choir of angels. Like his prayers have been answered! As if fate was on his side! He almost burst out in happiness, ready to just kiss him right there. He had a chance! John could possibly be as in love with him as he was with him!

Instead, he contained himself and nodded, pretending as if he just told him that he got stack of notebook paper for him. "Thank you for telling me." John relaxed his stiff body and continued on with his story.

"Anyway, it was going fine. We had so much fun with my brothers, my sisters. But then . . ." John's face went pale. His lips drew a thin line. Alex grabbed his forearm and squeezed reassuringly. John looked at him with thanks, feeling a sense of relief run through his body.

"He told me he was sending me to conversion therapy," he mumbled. Laurens squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing. When he looked up, he saw his friend's face morph into disgust, and utter disbelief.

"I insisted he didn't. That he was crazy. I was packing my things and leaving but . . ." John inhaled. "He called me a disgrace. He didn't want me as a son."

Alexander looked like he was ready to murder someone. He felt his head rush and his blood heat up as he tried to imagine what it looked like to see John's father screaming these hideous words at him. He stood up, a bitter expression prominent on his features.

"God, I swear I'm going to—"

"Alex, stop it. It's impossible," John murmured.

Hamilton paced around. "What the fuck is wrong with him? Not being able to accept his son?! He's awful!" He clenched his fists angrily, gritting his teeth and swearing that he and his friends would love John unconditionally for who he was.

John squeezed his eyes tight. "Thank you Alex, really, but . . . I don't know. It's not helping; you just getting angry. I'd rather just have someone comfort me, is that fine?" He opened his eyes, pleading silently with him. Alexander stared back, trying not to listen to those sweet eyes and trying to imagine himself getting in a fist fight with that snobby rich man. The fuming college student imagined himself standing above Henry Laurens, balled, scratched up fists in the air, smiling wickedly over his battered, bleeding lifeless body. He blew air out of his mouth and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Fine, okay. But if anyone talks shit about my best friend—" Alex winked, making John show that grin. "Well, let's say, we won't see them again . . . for a while. Depending on whatever they did."

That got both of them laughing and Alex dove right next to his friend, snatching him in a tight embrace for a long, long time.

 

* * *

 

John exhaled when his friends had enveloped him in a deep hug. He closed his eyes in bliss, murmuring a few words of thankfulness. He hadn't known what would have happened to himself if his friends had not joined him and guided him toward a brighter path where he didn't have to face his heartbreak alone.

His friends would encourage him, laugh with him and joke with him. He loved them so much. His heart was squeezing tightly in his chest and the boy smiled brightly. He tried not to think of Alex's death. He tried to focus on the sounds of the TV and not the horrible thing he heard and saw before he died. No, he'd stay with his friends.

He wouldn't break down again in front of him. He buried his head in possibly Hercules' arm. Ah, Hercules. John could recall what a teddy bear he was and the time he rambled on and on to him and Gilbert about the store he'd open up. Instead of measuring and sewing clothes at a bland white and grey room in a strip mall where for the most part the same two women and three men showed up, he'd managed to land an opportunity and soon open up his own clothing line.

Eliza had been helping him with contacts and writing contracts whilst the two other Schuyler sisters, clever as they are, began to pester their father, quite rich with money and connections, to soon advertise the clothes. Lafayette, wanting to play a part, wrote to his families in France and encouraged them to buy the hot new "Heracles Apparel". He'd written to George Washington, Alexander's old caretaker inquiring him for more connections. Alex too had been useful. With what his astonishing writing could accomplish, he could have written to popular news outlets. He never completed his first draft to one.

"John," Hercules said. "For . . . Heracles, I have a really important request." The group pulled away and the two looked at each other. Mulligan had a sad smile on his face but a hopeful look in his eyes. "I really only trust you for this, so . . ."

Laurens blinked. "I- huh?"

"Heracles, well, Heracles needs some logos. And, I kind of would like you to design some for me! You're an awesome artist, um, I've seen the amazing work you've done. And I can only trust you so . . . will you do it?"

John parted his lips, looking around at his friends. Angelica, Laf, Peggy, Eliza, they all smiled encouragingly.

He stared back at that big teddy bear and nodded vigorously. "Of course Herc, it's your dream!"

Mulligan grinned and pulled the smaller guy in for another hug. "Yeah, Jack!"

"It'll be a complete success," Angelica thought aloud. She had one hand on her hip, and despite her red eyes and messy hair, somehow managed to still look elegant. "With my dad and Mr. Washington and Laf, I think it'll definitely pull through." She turned back toward the group. "Just don't get a big head once you're rich, Mulligan." Everyone punched the guy in the arm.

"Oui! You split the money with us! We helped you, no?" Gilbert wiggled his eyebrows, leaning heavily on the former tailor's arm, who rolled his eyes.

"Of course I will, imbécile!" he scoffed. "You really think that low of me?"

Gilbert jumped back, holding a hand up to his chest, an offended look on his face. "Hey hey! Jokes, jokes!"

Hercules pulled the man under his arm and rubbed his head vigorously with his fist as he screamed out, "Je me rends! Je me rends! Je me rends! Je me rends!" Eliza laughed at the sight. She wiped her tearful eyes and looked at John.

"Alexander was a wonderful guy, you know?" she said, grabbing the freckled boy's hand. She intertwined it with hers. It was not a flirty gesture by any means. It was a very comforting, soft gesture. John closed his eyes, putting his other palm on his. Angelica could be heard pulling the two rowdy boys away while Margaret giggled like the little girl she was (at heart). "He . . . when we broke up. I knew it was because you loved him. And he was with you. I knew it would crush you every day to see us," Elizabeth softly said. "And I regret now, going for him first. I wish I didn't run to him, but instead push you to him. And maybe at least you would have gotten a chance. I regret that now." Her voice sounded hurt, and her eyes threatened to water. But she quickly shook her head and straightened her posture. She blinked a couple of times and turned to face John. "Enough of that now. No more tears," she promised herself.

Laurens' face cinched up in pain. His heart beat rigorously fast at the words the second Schuyler sister threw at him. He gently took his palm from hers. "Eliza, you're one of the most amazing friends a guy could have. I . . . I don't know what to say." Elizabeth smiled solemnly.

"You don't have to say anything. Let's . . . move forward."

 

* * *

 

Today was the day.

John stood in front of his mirror, next to Angelica and Gilbert. He breathed a shaky sigh, staring at his own chocolate brown eyes in the mirror. He counted each of his freckles and looked at his pink lips wondering if they'd be soft enough. He lifted his chin a bit higher to see if he'd look okay. He carefully examined each strand of hair, seeing if they were tucked carefully into his hair tie. Lafayette placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Mon ami, calm down. Believe me, he likes you," the French man said in a reassuring attitude. John smiled nervously, breathing in and out slowly. He stared at his flannel. Dark blue and black jeans. Perfect. Casual. It wasn't too formal or too lazy and tattered. It was fine and perfect. Maybe this would get Alex's attention. Doesn't he like flannels?

"I'm one-hundred percent sure he likes you, John. Maybe even more," Angelica softly said, petting his head in the mirror. John lifted his head more, watching the lump in his throat go down. His two friends had come over to his new apartment to help him prepare for what he was about to do. The freckled boy looked at his two friends in the mirror. Lafayette was on his left and Ang on his right.

Oh how much he loved Angelica. She gave the most reassuring advice, acting as if she was a mother. Maybe other people would hate her nurturing aura, but John appreciated it. That sweet, caring presence made John feel alive. Her teeth radiated the sun's rays, sending a wave of confidence and happiness within the boy. She was wearing a pink v-neck, which was her favorite color, and high-waisted denim jeans. Her and Laf were going to hang out with Thomas Jefferson. Just because Angelica never met him.

John didn't want to say anything when Angelica had mentioned to him about going to a party with a peculiar Thomas boy (and Lafayette of course) with big, big hair and beholding an interesting sweater that was shaded magenta. And if just a few hours later, a big purple bruise appeared prominent on the side of Jefferson's face, then well, John never met this "Jefferson" character in his life.

Gilbert was also very supportive. He had told him certain French phrases that, he quotes, "Would definitely turn on a boy like Alex," since he as well speaks French.

Angelica smacked his head.

John was breathing heavily, reciting Lafayette's advice, though, not telling Angelica."Tes jeux, j'en rêve jour et nuit . . . Veux-tu être mon petit-ami? Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Je suis amoureux, à toi, pour toujours," he muttered relentlessly. Lafayette patted him and nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes! And you'd better hurry to your ice skating session. Otherwise you'll make me fall in love with those sweet words mon ami!" Laf winked, shoving the freckled boy. Laurens smiled, laughing at his friend's banter.

But he couldn't help but feel like something was not going to be quite right. He tried to shake off the feeling. He wanted to kiss his best friend, finally being able to kiss him. He planned it, dreaming of it the night before. Planning it, the night before. He performed the scene over and over again, wanting to perfect it so badly. And hope his friend returned his love.

He thought the scene like this:

"Haha! Wow, John I didn't think you'd fall on your face that much," Alex would giggle and bat his eyelashes, wiping the frost out of John's hair. John would roll his eyes and smile.

"Listen!" he'd reply. "I thought I had it. It didn't seem as hard when I was little."

They would return their ice skates, and walk side by side into the night, bantering and recalling old events they'd been through together. John would stare off at the night sky, and turned to meet his friend's eyes.

Alex would raise an eyebrow, curious. "What is it?" he'd inquire in that soft voice of concern that made Laurens weak at the knees. A smile would appear on his faint lips, and he'd say,

"Come on, I wanna take you somewhere."

The sky would be around fifty degrees. Cold, but going to be even colder once they arrived to the location.

The night was pitch black, and when the boys got there, no one else would be there. John and Alex would hear the sounds of the crashing waves, crying high above the sand, splashing relentlessly. John would grab his hand and lead him closer to the ocean, the serene noises relaxing both of their bodies and the freezing sea air icing their skin.

They would sit down on the sand, pitch black flooding their visions.

"What are we doing here?" John imagined Hamilton would wonder. John would smile, though he possibly couldn't see it. He felt the warmth of Alexander's arm rub against his own arm, and the air suddenly felt like the heat of volcanic lava.

"Eh, thought it's always peaceful at night," Laurens would casually reply. He'd relax on the sand, closing his eyes, waiting a couple of seconds for the silence to seep through as Hamilton sat there, confused and quiet.

"I remember first meeting you at that bar," John would bring up. "Haha, I thought you were so cool!"

And he had no idea would his best friend would possibly reply. But, more than likely, he'd say something flirty that would wash a horrendous wave of heat through his face.

They'd talk about their experiences with each other, possibly speaking about deep issues and spill more secrets. They'd talk like they had all the time in the world, speaking out their sorrows and whispering anything. They'd talk more and more and laugh and maybe cry a little bit and John would sit up, hand caressing his friend's face. He'd stroke his thumb along his jawline and draw closer, breath against Alexander's skin.

And maybe the immigrant would possibly shut up for once, and John would press his frigid lips against his friend's frost touched ones too. And maybe Alex would bring his hand up on John's cheek, his thick winter jacket touching his freckles. He'd hear both of their hearts beating faster and faster, pulse racing so hard he'd fear he'd have to go to a hospital.

He imagined the ocean in the background coursed in his mind and he could see both of them on a sunny, secluded beach where no one else was there except them. He would kiss harder, and stubborn Alex would probably kiss back, pushing him down on the sand and maybe Laurens would gasp slightly.

Maybe they'd stay, hand on the other's face, but John would place a thumb on his lip, signaling for him to stop, and possibly Alex would pout, stubborn and hotheaded as he was.

"Je sues amoureux," John would breathlessly whisper in a horrible french accent and Alex would grin and kiss his cheek and tell him so.

"I am so in love with you, Alexander Hamilton," he'd say in such a shaky voice. "A—And I would love for you to be my boyfriend."

Alex would kiss him gently, taking his face in his hands. Maybe he'd confess his love. Maybe he'd say something along the lines of, "Of course John." Or maybe something even more. He hadn't known. It was Alex's mind. What would he say in a situation like this?

"I'm ready," John said to himself in the mirror, snapping out of it. He turned around.

His two best friends squeezed him hard. "When I see you two finally holding hands tomorrow, just like you're supposed to be . . ." Angelica smiled.

Laf grinned. "Go get him."

John waved, nervous butterflies and that strange other feeling mixing up in his stomach. He snatched one of his heavy winter coats from his closet and raced down the hall, to his car, driving all the way to Alex's house he's been renting out. In the car, John blasted the cheesiest songs he could find to prepare for this exciting yet awfully terrifying moment. He sang loudly, screaming the lyrics of each cheddar coated word as he steered his car.

"TAKE ME INTO YOUR LOVING AAARRRMSS!"

The sinking feeling felt heavier and more terrifying.

 

* * *

 

"ok" Alex had sent back to John. The boy had two strange feelings in his stomach that night as he waited for John to pick him up. Alex was dressed in a heavy winter jacket as well as wearing denim jeans and a T-shirt that adorned the words "French Baby" on them. He spent hours upon hours fixing his hair.

The first feeling in his stomach were the butterflies, the same ones that flutter around whenever John invites him to go somewhere. The second one was worse, like heavy bells jostling around in his intestines. He kept imagining the times he was a child, poor, stumbling around and grabbing onto strangers' clothes, begging and spilling his stories.

He kept imagining his mother, holding him close. He kept imagining his first meeting with John. But he did not understand why those feelings felt so forlorn and sad now.

He kept imagining Eliza, when they'd hold hands and when they'd break up, how kind she was and how much better friends they became post-breakup. He kept imagining Angie, nagging him like she was his mother. Hercules hugging him like he was a soft bunny, offering to sew up his tattered clothes from stupid feuds he'd get himself into. Gilbert, for the first time telling Alexander what his full, full name was and Alex dropping his jaw in awe. John and him staring at each other. Hugging. Telling secrets. John coming out to him. Imagining a kiss between them that never happened.

But then Alex thought of Burr.

He never, ever told anyone the deep arguments they'd gone through.

Everyone thought they'd had another . . . Jefferson like feud. A stupid one. The "I hate you!! You big loser!!" one. Alex could never bring himself to open up to anyone else about it. He . . . could not place his hand on why it felt so foreign to speak up about it.

Alex and Burr's feuds were terrifying. Worse than Jefferson and his. Hamilton wondered if there was something wrong with Burr. He falsely accused him of spreading lies about him. The hatred and anger and venom in the older boy's eyes was something worse than the petty jealousy.

Each day, Aaron Burr looked worse for wear. His appearance looked sickly, his eyes got wilder, clothes more tattered. His friends slowly disconnected themselves from ever associating themselves with him.

He'd lost all friends.

His perfect, pristine grades faltering to failing ones as Alexander climbed up the ranks, defeating Burr's excellent top scores as Burr got less and less popular and Alexander's names seemed to whisper through the crowds. His life seemed much more wonderful than Burr's.

His only companion, Theodosia, was dying before his eyes and his heart was shrinking and shrinking, every day she battled cancer.

Aaron Burr was losing it.

Hamilton remembered the day the older boy yanked back his dress shirt in an desolate area of the University. He spun him around, face to face with the eyes of a madman. Aaron Burr looked a mess, scratches and tired, tired eye bags decorating his dark toned face.

His lips twitched, insanity radiating from the once presentable college student. "Y—You," he sneered, scowling, growling the name in his throat. "What did you do to me . . ."

"Burr? Are you okay?" Alex began, eyes darting anywhere but him as he snatched up his shirt in his hands.

"Alexander Hamilton," the man said, distaste clear as he spoke those two words. He laughed emotionlessly. "Oh, you'd better answer for those words flying about me . . . I know it was you. You bastard immigrant."

Alex narrowed his eyes, keeping the flames in him down to a low blaze at the insult. "I don't know what you're talking about. Aaron, I've done nothing to you. Just because my grades have topped yours, it does not mean I've been spreading lies about you. In fact, Burr, I barely talk about you."

"Lie!" Aaron shoved him away, eyes widened, anger and resentment swirling in his crazy irises. Alex gasped inwardly as he landed on his butt, groaning in pain. He murmured the words,"Caught in two worlds, caught in two worlds. Can't tell them apart. Can't tell them apart." over and over again.

"What the hell—"

"I've heard aaaalllll about you. Your history. Your mother. The constitutional convention." Alex didn't know what to say. Barely anybody knew about his mother. And what did he mean . . . the constitutional convention?

"And haha, now you're here. To ruin my reputation. You're the one the voices were talking about."

"Voices? Burr . . . I think you need—"

Burr ran forward, gripping his shoulders, looking completely mad. "You're the one! They said they'd said they'd seen you in the Other Universe!

You ruined me. You destroyed my career! Endorsed Thomas Jefferson! John Laurens died in a gunfight. Philip Hamilton, dead at age nineteen." He looked away, looked down, closed his eyes. "I have to fulfill the legacy of the Other Universe. I have to do what I have done then."

Burr suddenly sprang off of the boy, running away, murmuring incoherent words under his breath. "Theodosia. King George III. The Battle of Yorktown. George Washington. Theodosia. Philip. Schuyler sisters. The Other Universe. Voices. Summon all the courage you require. Scandal. Count to ten. The Hudson River. The same spot his son died."

Hamilton laid on the ground, breathing, shocked. What? "He's gone fucking insane. Who's Philip Hamilton . . ." he muttered. And that mess about John Laurens dying in a gunfight? What? Their snowball fight, does he mean? Cause that was so stupid.

But he could not shake off the feeling that this would not be over.

And he wasn't wrong. From that point forward, Alex would get in heated arguments with Burr about trivial things such as grades, and Burr would say something awfully creepy and threatening. And they'd get in arguments worse than Angelica's bitch slaps.

Alex jerked his head up once the doorbell rang. He grinned. John was here. When he stood, he could feel the heavy bell ringing in his stomach and in his ears. The memories suddenly flooded through his head even more. Memories that he'd tried to remember before, but just couldn't suddenly came back to him. He'd have to write those down.

The color of his first jacket upon arriving in America. The fading marker imprint of Alex's name on the skin of John's arm. His blushing face. The way John would stare at Alex like he was more interesting than his movie reviews. He wasn't marveling in Alex's movie reviews, he was marveling the way his appearance looked.

Why was he suddenly so sure of this?

The strangest thought of a mocha skin colored baby filled his memory. One dotted with freckles and thick curly hair. Eliza in an old fashioned dress holding him.

He turned to the door, a doorbell ringing.

He stepped toward it, and the bell in his head rang even louder. He suddenly felt like crying. He wishes he could kiss John right now. He suddenly misses everyone, even though they are so near. He misses his mom and wishes he'd hugged Peggy and kissed her forehead goodnight.

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

He wishes he could call George, "Father" one last time.

He opens the door and smiles when these thoughts and feelings fade, "John—"

A shot rings out in the air and the figure he sees shimmers to a man in a black coat, a black top hat with angry, angry eyes. Alexander Hamilton stumbles backward into his home pressing his palm to that painful, painful area; staring down at the blood coating his fingers. Blood, blood red like John's face whenever Hamilton flirted with him. Blood, like the color of Burr's eyes when he saw Alex at number one for top grades.

Alex choked, ragged breathing, "I—I—John . . . Burr," he sputtered. Pain exploded in his abdomen, he felt paralyzed, a horrible stinging sensation in his abdomen and spine. He felt like he couldn't move his hands. And he couldn't. He fell onto his back, staining the hardware floor with his blood.

The memories flooded through his fading brain. More and more. And ones he never knew existed and ones he couldn't remember. Everyone he loved and everyone he hated. He loved the ones he hated. He loved them more than anything now. He loved his friends more than that. More than the universe.

Moving was futile. The bullet was stuck in his spinal chord, he couldn't move.

Burr stood above him, a grief stricken face, hands tightly clasped around the smoking handgun. His eyes widened in horror, and the madness and anger cleared from his eyes. Screaming in the background. It was like that for thirty minutes. Sirens rang.

He took a step forward. "Hamilton!"

Arms yanked him back. Red and blue washed the house as blood flowed toward every direction. Aaron Burr, dressed in black leather shoes, black pants, black cloak, and a white ruffled collar along with a tall, tall top hat.

He didn't resist when handcuffs clicked around his wrists and the gun clattered to the ground.

His eyes stayed wide. He breathed heavily. "What did I . . . I . . ."

Villain.

Legacy.

 

John ran, despite the nurses telling him "No!" He ran, unable to believe the truth.

He sprinted, tears streaming down his burning cheeks. Why was Thinking Out Loud still replaying in his brain over and over like a loop? He stormed in the hospital room despite the nurses. He had to pull Alex out of there and take him on his dream date. He had to kiss him and confess his love. He had to.

He spotted his body, so so pale and so not his skin tone. People with latex gloves shaking their heads, mouthing "He's gone." All he could hear was a white ringing noise. The butterflies fluttered weakly in his stomach. The heavy feeling suddenly gone and transferred to every single one of his limbs.

He saw the bandages around his stomach.

He ignored the flow of water down his cheeks and gritted his teeth, hysterical, absolutely believing he'd be alright. He clutched his friend's hand, breathing so so ragged. "You will be okay Alex. You're gonna be juusttt fine." John stroked his cold, red stained hand.

"I love you, come on, I love you," he whispered, thumb swirling around his palm. The nurses tried to tell him. But they were wrong.

He hadn't noticed all his friends pouring into the room.

He barely registered the "John, please . . ."

He barely registered the Schuyler sisters' shrieking and sobbing.

"Alex, you're fine," he murmured. He closed his palm, kissing the cold, pale not him hand. Hercules hugged the sisters, Laf sat in a trance, blank, blank, blank.

Laurens stared at his unmoving face, the bloody bandages around his stomach, the flat ringing noise of the monitor.

"Alexander," his voice cracked, realization slowly reeling in. His eyes suddenly squeezed, his mouth quivering. He couldn't breathe. No. No. NO. NO.

"ALEXANDER." He sobbed and sobbed and screamed and squeezed his lifeless hand and buried his forehead into his arm, shaking his head. "No, no . . . Please. Please."

"We—We can watch your favorite movie again . . ." he whispered so weakly. Angelica choked on a sob in the background, hurting because of John. How heartbroken he was. How shaken. How he never got to kiss him. His soulmate.

"I'd give anything to hear you talk about it again."

He screamed. Screamed until his throat was raw and he couldn't hear anything. Until he wished he was gone. Until his friends came and hugged him and whispered things that would never comfort him.

 

* * *

 

The rose twirled around in his hands over and over. His friends let him be, as he requested. And he noted the wilting bouquet of flowers from Thomas Jefferson, "I don't hate you at all. I just want you to come back. I want to fight about politics with you." He noted the lilacs from James Madison with a note, "I don't hate you. I miss arguing with you." The roses, sunflowers, tulips from Hercules, Laf, Margaret, Ang, Betsy, and none from John. Notes from classmates. Flowers from classmates who barely knew him. Bouquets from professors and classmates' parents.

The gravestone, "Alexander Hamilton 1995 — 2017: an intelligent, spunky young man who showed unwavering determination".

It took him maybe a few more months to finally step out of his house. Hair ruffled, clean and his beard shaved. He dressed in the flannel he wore on the date he would've confessed.

The boy kneeled, refusing to sob. He couldn't. Not in front of Alex. He closed his eyes, touching cold fingertips to the gravestone.

When he opened his eyes, that hotheaded boy's big brown stubborn eyes were right there, big and staring at him. He was wearing a shirt that said "French Baby" with a hole in the middle of it and denim jeans and converse sneakers. Around his shoulders was a blue, heavy winter coat. That was crazy. It was a bit chilly, but definitely not cold enough to wear such a warm jacket.

He could see him smiling. Grinning a smile so sad, so melancholy. His brown, brown eyes glistening with want and hope and love. He was waving his hand. Pale. So pale and grey and just not a healthy skin color.

But when John blinked again. All he saw was the grave.

He smiled sadly and chuckled dryly to himself.

"Hey, Alex," he began. His voice was hoarse and deep. Laurens cleared his throat and began again, suddenly feeling a wave of self consciousness when he felt like he was being watched.

"I never told you. And I—I wish I had . . . Maybe I should have when you were ranting to me about Jefferson. Or the time we had that stupid snowball fight and you pinned me. O—Or at that one party. I don't know. I just . . . Fuck, I wish I said it before. When you were alive," he sputtered out. Goddamn, John was fighting so hard not to cry. He bit his tongue, not wanting to speak again in fear he would choke out a sob in front of the fearless Hamilton. His eyes were becoming blurry with horrible tears again. John inhaled and stabbed his forearms into his eyes to scrub out the salty water.

Then, something strange happened.

He felt a cold hand clamp around his shoulder. Laurens flinched. Hard. At the touch of the frozen yet familiar hand. He slowly spun around to face whatever it was.

"What took you so long?" Alexander Hamilton laughed. A beautiful sight. Even if he was as pale as a corpse. His voice sounded so haunting. It was obviously him, but the life sucked out of it. "I've been waiting for you! Can't believe you kept your best friend waiting for—what? How many months?"

John felt those horrid tears roll down his cheeks. He smiled, exploded into sad laughter and wrapped his arms around his pink shirt, ruffling his nose into his shoulder.

"Alex. I— Je t'aime de tout mon coeur . . . Je t'aimerai pour toujours," he sputtered, unable to stop crying.

Alexander chuckled, "Your accent is terrible." He felt so real as he squeezed John's body more. "Did Laf teach you this one? Je pens toujours à toi," he spoke so perfectly. Laurens was afraid he'd melt. "J'adore ton sourire. I've been in love with you too long, amour."

"I . . . I have a beautiful smile?" John smiled. He pulled away from Alex. His complexion was ghastly pale, dead and cold. But his eyes and smile were so warm, so full of love.

"Of course," Alex mumbled, rolling his eyes. "Anyone with a pair of eyes and a right mind would say so." He placed a hand on John's cheek. "But I also said, I've been in love with you for too long. I should've told you sooner, had I known you felt the same."

This made John choke back a cry.

"Don't cry. Come on. That'd be pretty damn awful to see." He swiped a cold thumb under Laurens' eye. "Smile, my dearest."

John tried not to cry. He tried to smile again but a mixture of a cry and a laugh burst from his mouth. "Alex I . . . I've been so lonely. Do you know what it's like without you? It's so quiet. It's so, so quiet and I can't stand it."

Alexander's face grew more sullen and his smile grew more. "Nothing compared to how I feel, my love. No one can hear me. No one can see me. It's torture, and I feel worse each day."

John clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes. "I can't believe it," he whispered. "Little Lion, I never heard you or saw you." Laurens could swear Alex suddenly felt more . . . gas like.

The boy laughed at his nickname. "I wanted to, believe me. I wanted to make myself known." Alex appeared more transparent, and John could see the distant trees through him, and he feared the worst was happening. "But I could never bring myself to try to talk to you. I couldn't fucking bear to see you crying like that. I would've hurt myself even more."

"I probably might not have been able to let go of you," John croaked again. He could barely feel Alexander in his arms. Hamilton inhaled sharply, as if realization was dawning on him that his body was slowly disappearing.

He looked down, back at the grief-filled man, brown eyes full of immense sorrow and need and want. "I have to leave soon." Those words shattered John's world.

"W—What?"

A firm pair of lips touched gently upon the boy's forehead.

"I'll love you. For as long as it takes for you to meet me again."

John blinked once.

He was gone.

The rose was embedded in the ground at the foot of the grave, more prominently placed than all the other roses. The last few seconds felt like a dream, and John Laurens realized . . . it must have been.

Just an imagination.

John's brain tortured him once more. It refused to delete any trace of Alex. Now, it demanded he see an illusion of his love, Alexander right here. Of fucking course.

The man stood still, letting the winds whip his cheeks. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the forest scent, imagining the warmth of his friend's arms around his neck, trying to imagine what it would be like to kiss him for the first time, replaying the last words he's said to him on his lips.

"For as long as it takes."


End file.
